Mustard
by Obi the Kid
Summary: Dean's recent obsessive issues have an underlying cause, as Sam discovers. Season 6


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**TITLE:** Mustard

**AUTHOR:** Obi the Kid

**SUMMARY:** Dean's recent obsessive issues have an underlying cause, as Sam discovers. (Season 6)

**RATING:** PG

**DISCLAIMER**: The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the world of Supernatural do not belong to me, nor do I make any profit from this story.

* * *

Their world was off again.

A feeling of wrong that neither could figure out how to right.

And Sam's confusion as to the current state of his older brother's mind was rising.

"Come on, Dean, we should've been on the road an hour ago!"

The muffled voice that responded to the complaint and came from inside the car

was not a happy one. Dean, on his knees on the front bench seat, was desperately wiping at something on the passenger side leather.

"You should be the one cleaning this. Mustard, Sam? Really? Since when do you eat mustard? You're usually all about mayo or those weird special sauces." A pause, then, "Damn it! The stain won't come out."

Sam stood a few feet away from the car shaking his head. His brother could have had blood dripping down his face, a broken arm, a lacerated lung and Dean would still be more worried about a mustard stain settling on the seat of his precious Impala.

The head of Dean popped out of the car and peered at Sam over the roof. "No more eating in my car. Ever. When we stop to eat, you're getting out and sitting on the side of the road. I swear it's like driving around with a Gigantor-sized five year old. You're supposed to be the neat one, Sam!"

"Dean, you don't think you're taking this a bit too far? It's a mustard mark the size of a dime, if that."

The head of Dean disappeared back into the car, the voice of Dean continued. "It's the principle of the thing, Sam."

Sam opened the passenger door and leaned in, almost butting heads with his brother. Both lifted their gazes to stare at the other.

"Dude, seriously. What's wrong with you?"

"Everything is just fine and dandy, Sammy. Now move. Your hand is on the mustard."

The hand lifted, but Sam saw barely a scant trace of the stain. "You can't even see that man, come on!"

A glare.

Retreat. It was Sam's only option at this point. He moved away from the car and sat on the rest stop bench until his suddenly neurotic brother finished with his current obsession. It was one of several obsessions Sam had noticed in recent weeks - in these recent weeks since more of Sam's memories had crept through the wall in his mind. For whatever reason, Dean's subconscious was picking odd ways of dealing with the weight. Freaking out over an almost non-existent mustard stain seemed to be one of them, but Sam allowed him his issues.

At least he allowed it for another hour when he decided to end it.

He went around to the driver side of the Impala, grabbed Dean by the scruff of his jacket and yanked him backwards out of the car. Then he removed the rag from one hand and the cleaning paste from the other and tossed them into the trunk. He finished off with a not-so-gentle slam of that same trunk. It was loud enough to attract brief glances from others nearby at the same rest stop.

"You're done. And we need to go. If you can't detach your mind away from an invisible mustard stain long enough to drive, I will. Give me the keys."

"I don't think so. I let you have mustard in the car, and we see how that turned out. You sure as hell ain't drivin'. No telling where we might end up."

"Dean, the mustard is gone. The stain is gone. Let it go, man. Okay, wait. I'm sorry for dripping mustard on the seat. There. Can we go now?"

"It's not funny, Sam."

"No, it's not. It's weird. What's with the obsessions lately, Dean? Not just the mustard. Remember the all-nighter you pulled the other day when you swore you saw Samuel's ghost outside our motel sitting on the hood of the car? And then a week ago, waking me up every time that I so much as twitched in my sleep because you were convinced I was having a Hell nightmare? I was up every five minutes that night. Or the constant gun cleaning - every day for the last two weeks for exactly two hours a night? You need me to go on?"

"What?"

"You don't see anything strange about those things?"

"Nope."

Dean moved away and sunk into the driver's seat. "Get in, Sam. We should've been gone hours ago. Chop chop!"

Sam rolled his eyes and hurried over to the passenger side as the Impala's engine came to life. Squeezing his long legs in, he pulled the door closed then reached over and turned the engine off, yanking the keys out of the ignition in the process.

"What the hell, Sam?"

"Talk."

"About what?"

"You know what. Three weeks ago, I had another flashback to my year with Samuel. It wasn't pretty. You've been freaked out ever since."

Dean went to say something, opening his mouth briefly, before biting it back and looking away. He gripped the steering wheel and stayed quiet.

"Yeah, tell me I don't know you, Dean."

The quiet ended.

"So, I've been a little on edge, fine. We live on the edge. It's the way of hunters. Mustard stain, gun cleaning, nightmares, ghosts of re-deaded grandfathers who just won't stay dead, wondering if my brother is gonna end up a friggin' tomato before the year is out. It's all part of our line of work."

"Vegetable."

"What?"

"Tomato is a fruit. I can't become a tomato."

"Really, Sam? That's the main point you got out of that? That a tomato is a fruit?"

"Well, it is."

"Okay, we're done, gimme the damn keys."

"No. I'm driving." Sam pulled his large frame out of the car and around to the driver's side where he opened Dean's door. "Come on, move over. Long way to go and your mind is not anywhere near driving mode. I drive, you rest. Trust me it'll make you feel better."

Dean tried to protest, but Sam knocked him sideways on the bench seat. Again the Impala came to life.

"Still see the mustard stain, Dean?"

"Yes."

"Good. When you can't see it anymore, let me know. Then you can drive."

"Sam."

"Don't Sam me. We've got things to do before I become a tomato."

Sam's comment was said in partial jest but Dean gave him a severe glare.

"Yeah, I know," Dean said as he relented. "Just…let's refocus, okay? That case in Virginia, what's the name of the town?"

Road map pulled off the dash Sam unfolded the left flap to find the red-inked circle he'd made the previous evening. "_Winchester_, Virginia."

"Yes. The symmetry alone is enough to give me goose bumps."

"Well, let's just hope it's not a sign of things directed _at_ us."

As they drove away from the rest stop, passenger-Dean exhaled and leaned his head back. "Be careful with my baby, she's not used to your giant meat hooks telling her where to roll. I'll check on the mustard stain when I wake up."

A short time later, Sam made a quick stop on the side of the road when he was sure Dean was down for the count. A grab from the trunk, and he had a bottle and rag in his hands. A brief scrub of the supposed mustard stain area with the _Goo Gone_ and the leather was good as new. He smiled at his sneakiness, put the bottle back in the trunk and they were on their way again.

When Dean woke two hours later, they were still four hours out of Virginia. He ran a hand over the spot on the seat. Clean. Shiny. Perfect.

"Hey, the mustard's gone."

"Really?" Sam said as he tossed out his best innocently-surprised voice.

Knowing the other far too well for his own good, Dean wasn't falling for it. "Okay, what did you do?"

"Wasn't me, man. I told you rest would help."

"I wasn't imagining it Sam."

"Didn't say you were."

Dean let it sit for a time, which in his world was about thirty seconds before he said, "Okay Tomato Boy, pull over. If the stain is gone, I'm driving."

…And just that quickly – at least for a time - their world was right again.

A laugh - a feel-good laugh - burst from Sam's face as he pulled the Impala over and gave up the driving duties to his brother. The sudden good mood claimed him and he couldn't resist it as he set his head back on the recently vacated passenger seat to get his own bit of rest. The laugh ended and he stole a glance to his left, his head and heart knowing exactly how to keep that mood and make everything okay.

A smirk and a single word.

"Bitch."

Dean let out his own feel-good laugh and a warm memory of how much he'd missed his soul-filled brother during the last year tugged at him as he returned the familiar jab that had been a part of them since…forever.

"Jerk."

There followed a momentary glance and a shared smile before Dean refocused

on the road. The exchange brought with it that frantic need for and desperate feeling of family that allowed him to forget, for the moment, whatever Hell might lie ahead.

* * *

_The end._


End file.
